I often have this feeling in my mind, how many people know about the past life of the golden people? They walked through the world like the wind without a trace, and may only exist in the memories of those who stayed in their hometown...
In memory, they should still be alive, and maybe there are still people waiting for them to come back...
In a daze, I wrote a few rather inappropriate poems and sent them to Shura, Camus, Abrodi and Shaka.
Intention: